Light and dark

[173]

THINKING TO have a quick soak before he went to bed, he asked the maid to show him the way to the baths and realized only then that the size of the place was as she had described it. Turning down unexpected hallways and descending sudden flights of stairs, when he finally reached the tubs he wondered if he would be able to return to his room by himself.

The baths were partitioned by boards and glass doors into several areas; there were six small tubs, three on the left facing three on the right, and a large tub a little apart that was more than twice the size of a normal public bath.

“This here is the largest and the best,” the maid said, rattling open the door inset with frosted glass. There was no one inside. Possibly to prevent steam from accumulating, the transom was fitted with a glass shutter; the draft of night air entering through the half-opened space beneath the ceiling struck Tsuda’s body as he was removing his padded jacket and reminded him that he was in a mountain village.

“That’s cold.”

Tsuda jumped into the tub with a splash.

“Please take your time.”

About to close the door to the bath on her way out, the maid came back in.

“There’s another tub downstairs; you can also use that one if you like.”

Having descended one or two flights of steps on his way here, Tsuda had trouble imagining there could still be a downstairs.

“How many floors is this place?”

Smiling, the maid didn’t answer. But she didn’t hesitate to inform him what she thought he needed to know.

“Being this one is new, it’s nicer, but they say the springs downstairs is better for your health. Most of our guests who are really here for treatment go downstairs. And downstairs you can massage your shoulders and back under the falls.”

Submerged in the tub to his neck, Tsuda replied.

“Thanks. That’s where I’ll go from now on, so please take me there next time.”

“I will — is something ailing you?”

“A bit, yes.”

For some time after the maid had left, Tsuda was unable to forget what she had said, “our guests who are really here for treatment.”

Does that include me?

He wanted to think of himself that way, and then again he preferred not to. In his heart he was aware of his purpose in being here. But having come all this way through the rain, he perceived there was still bargaining room. There was hesitation. A certain latitude remained. It told him something.

This can still go either way. If you want to be a guest who’s serious about treatment, you can be. At this point, old boy, you’re still free to decide. And you’ll never tire of freedom. On the other hand, with freedom nothing ever gets resolved, which keeps you unsatisfied. Will you toss your freedom away, then? But when you’ve lost it, what will you be able to take firm hold of? Do you know? Your future has yet to reveal itself. What if it holds many times more wonder than the single skein of mystery in your past? You want to dispel that mystery in the past in order to secure the future that you want, and to achieve that you contemplate throwing away your freedom in the present — does that make you clever or a fool?

Tsuda couldn’t reach a conclusion either way. And the inevitable consequence of letting everything be determined by the outcome was that, in the moment when he began to question that outcome, he would have already bound himself helplessly hand and foot.

From the beginning there had been only three paths open to him. Just three and no others. The first was to stew forever without a resolution while preserving his current freedom; the second was to advance without caring if he played the fool; the third, the route he had his eye on, was to obtain a resolution that satisfied him without playing the fool.

He had set out from Tokyo with only the third path in mind. But having rattled along on a train and swayed down the road in a carriage, been chilled in the mountain air and soaked in a steaming tub, he had finally discovered that the person he sought was actually within reach, and as he perceived that the moment had at last arrived when, as early as the next day, he would begin to execute his plan, the first path had appeared to him. Then, before he knew it, the second was also there, beckoning him with a wan smile. They had showed up abruptly. But not clamorously. The haze that had obscured his field of vision had blown away with no sound of the dispelling wind, and his sight was of a sudden assured and reasonable.

Unexpectedly romantic, Tsuda was also unexpectedly staid. And he was unaware of the opposition between these two aspects of himself. There was accordingly no reason the contradiction should trouble him. He need only decide. But before he could reach a decision, he had to go to battle with himself. Play the fool and pay no mind? No, he hated being a fool. But there was no need. His resolve had been won in battle; now it must break down once again into three parts and come tumbling all the way down before he could rise to his full height.

Alone in the large tub, Tsuda splashed and scrubbed himself in the clean water from the hot spring.